


can't ask for more than this

by outranks



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outranks/pseuds/outranks
Summary: “No,” Hubert says, picking up the jar of oil before Sylvain can get to it. “No, I think I’d like to take you apart myself.”“Oh? Is that a promise?”“It’s a threat.”(Sylvain gets railed with emotions, but mostly with a dick.)
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	can't ask for more than this

**Author's Note:**

> first thing I post in this fandom and it's rarepair filth

The thing is, Sylvain _really_ likes Hubert. For all of the man’s sharp words, carefully crafted appearance, and personality like a bitter poison, he’s also clever, deeply loyal, and unexpectedly _kind._ More than that, however, is that he sees through Sylvain’s mask. He learns each and every broken piece beneath and still finds him worthy of praise. 

It leaves Sylvain unbalanced. 

At first, he’s so sure the attention is some game he hasn’t yet learned the rules too; another test of his loyalty to the Empire where failure will mean imprisonment _at best._ But then, if it is some test, the only prize for passing is a place in Hubert’s bed. 

What begins as a simple tryst between allies—between _friends_ —who could use a momentary respite from the war slowly turns into something with real weight. They build a foundation between battles and bloodshed, and eventually nights alone become nights together, celebrating another day closer to victory. Hubert learns his body, every inch of him, until Sylvain starts to crave his touch; breathlessly yearning for a man he never thought twice about when they were still students. 

But he _wants_. 

When Hubert is away, sometimes for weeks on end—always for the Emperor, always on errands not spoken of in the light of day—Sylvain is left with little comfort but his own hand; just the thought of taking someone else to his bed turns his stomach in unfamiliar ways. So he waits, and waits, and his faithfulness is rewarded. 

“Did you miss me?” Hubert asks, lips and teeth trailing along Sylvain’s neck, pushing him against the wall.

There are few people roaming the halls at this time of day, and fewer still now that the monastery is filled mostly with ghosts and memories. Which means there is no one else to see what becomes of Sylvain under Hubert’s hands. 

He shivers, arching into the skilled touch as a thigh is pressed right between his legs. “Maybe I did,” he says, voice cracking on a moan. “I know _you_ missed _me_.”

“Is that so?”

“You get bored without me.”

“I manage.”

Sylvain grins, pulling Hubert into a kiss. He’s been on his own for too long with only the memory of Hubert’s taste on his lips. 

“Look at you,” Hubert says, trailing his fingers along his jaw until a hand comes to rest at his throat. “Who could have ever imagined anything from Faerghus could be so beautiful.”

Sylvain’s breath catches as a shiver rolls through him. “And what are you going to do about it?”

A laugh ghosts against his skin when Hubert leans in for another kiss. “Perhaps I’ll simply watch you make a mess of yourself,” he says, pressing his thigh up again, providing just enough relief to make Sylvain _ache_.

“Don’t be mean.” 

“No, I won’t,” Hubert says, backing off a step. “I truly have missed you.”

It’s the admission that has Sylvain’s stomach doing flips. He isn’t used to such treatment and in answer he falls to his knees, uncaring of the hard floor beneath him. “I knew it,” he murmurs, trying to hide his pleased smile. He runs his tongue over Hubert’s cock, restrained by an unfortunate layer of fabric. The buttons catch against his lips, growing slick with spit and turning the black of his trousers inky with drool. 

Hubert groans, running a hand through Sylvain’s hair. “Is this what you want?” he asks, carefully freeing his cock and slapping it against Sylvain’s cheek. 

“ _Yes._ ” 

Sylvain leans back, pressing a kiss to the tip before darting his tongue out to lick at the slit. The familiar taste has his mouth watering and he takes as much in as he can. Years ago, before the war, being in this position was nearly unimaginable. Simply a fleeting thought when he was alone, always buried deep enough to pretend it was never there. 

But with Hubert everything is _different._

He drags his tongue along the underside of the shaft and pulls back to suck at the spongy head. The taste of precum is still taking some getting used to, but he moans regardless. Weeks alone in an empty bed are making everything feel new all over again. 

For his part, Hubert is not unaffected. His breathing is growing shallow and he takes hold of Sylvain’s head, guiding him further down on his cock. 

Sylvain grabs for him, anchoring himself, and does his best to take as much into his throat as he can. When he swallows, he earns a soft curse for his efforts. He has to press a palm against his own cock in an attempt to relieve the pressure, knowing full well that it will do little to help when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted.

“If you could see yourself…” Hubert trails off, pulling back to allow Sylvain to breathe. “When the war is won, I wonder if your place is better suited at my side, or at my feet.” 

Sylvain’s hips jerk, seeking any sort of friction, and he can’t help the desperate and broken moan that escapes him. It’s a ridiculous notion, and yet the image of himself fills his mind—delicate and pampered, with nothing to concern him besides serving Hubert. He knows his value to the Empire, and the plans for them both in the new world, but once the idea takes root it’s not so easily banished. 

Hubert touches him carefully, fingers pressed to the underside of his chin, guiding Sylvain off his cock and gently commanding him to stand. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asks, not mocking, but simply curious. 

“Yeah,” Sylvain answers far too quickly, his face growing warm with embarrassment at the admission. “I think I would.”

A look of wonder settles on Hubert’s face. “You are a gift,” he says quietly. 

“That’s not—”

“Do you doubt me?”

“I mean,” Sylvain falters. “Not usually…”

Hubert places a kiss to the corner of his lips. “Let’s take this into my room.”

“Right, yeah.” Sylvain darts a glance around the hallway, noting the golden light of the setting sun, and realises how late it has gotten. Just because there’s no one around _now_ doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way. He follows Hubert inside, and strips out of his clothes without prompting. This is familiar territory, steady ground for him to regain his footing, and besides that he receives a warm smile from Hubert when he practically throws himself onto the bed.

“A welcome sight, I must admit,” Hubert says, pausing in the careful removal of his own clothes to pet at Sylvain’s thigh. “It’s a good thing neither of us are required elsewhere for the rest of the night. I do have plans for you.” Ever so casually, he takes the edge of a glove between his teeth and pulls it off, leaving everything neatly piled in the corner. 

Sylvain shivers, eyes shutting for a moment. “Fuck,” he whispers. His cock twitches, dribbling precum onto his skin. He rolls onto his stomach, placing one of the pillows under his hips, and reaches for the bedside drawer. “Do you want me to—”

“No,” Hubert says, picking up the jar of oil before Sylvain can get to it. “No, I think I’d like to take you apart myself.”

“Oh? Is that a promise?”

“It’s a threat.”

The way Hubert speaks sends sparks up Sylvain’s spine. His hands curl tight into fists with the effort it takes not to rut against the pillow in search of any relief he can get. He’s spread open, exposing his hole as the pad of Hubert’s thumb brushes over his rim, making him arch back seeking a deeper touch. 

“Hold still.” Hubert drips oil onto him, slow enough that each drop causes his muscles to tense and twitch. It runs warm over his skin, sliding down his balls, leaving him slick and wet. 

Sylvain takes in a slow breath, trying to keep himself from moving in spite of the anticipation running in his veins. “You know, I thought about this when you were gone,” he says, attempting to sound blandly conversational, but missing the mark with the tremble of each word. 

“Did you?” Hubert asks, though his focus never wavers from his task. He runs his fingers along Sylvain’s rim, smearing the oil until he feels soaked with it—wet enough to slide a thumb in with little resistance. He plays with him, using light touches that add just a bit more stretch each time. He opens Sylvain up, slowly, carefully, until he’s loose and ready, his hole glistening with oil.

“Fuck—Hubert, _please._ ”

“I believe you were going to tell me of the things you thought about while I was away.” Hubert places a kiss to the dip of his spine and pushes two of his fingers in _hard_. 

Sylvain drops his head down. “You, mostly,” he says honestly. There’s no point in hiding anything _now_... “Your hands, your cock, the way you taste. My fingers were never enough.” He’s so hard he’s practically leaking, pooling precum on the bed. It’s like there’s an emptiness inside of him that’s enough to drive him mad if he isn’t filled soon. He can’t even remember the last time he was this needy, but he blames Hubert for it. “Just—please, _fuck me._ ”

The bed sinks with Hubert’s full weight as he finally positions himself behind Sylvain. He lines himself up with the head of his cock brushing Sylvain’s entrance. “I thought of you too,” he says like a confession. “We’re in the middle of a war and yet… you are a welcome distraction.” He sinks in like he belongs there, all of his preparation easing the way.

It’s almost more than Sylvain can handle. The stretch is blissful and the fullness settles him more than anything else. He sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. 

Hubert fucks him in deep, even strokes, holding his hips tight enough to leave handprint bruises as souvenirs. “The favorite son of Gautier, on his hands and knees, taking my cock like he’s made for it,” he murmurs, raising a hand and bringing it down hard over Sylvain’s ass, making him whimper. “If you could see yourself…”

“Hubert,” Sylvain whines.

“Maybe next time I’ll fuck you in front of a mirror.” 

Before Sylvain can wrap his head around _that_ , Hubert presses a finger against his hole, already stretched wide around his cock. It pushes in, just the tip, but Sylvain’s mouth drops open to suck in lungfuls of air as his body adjusts. Each thrust causes his cock to drag wet over the pillow beneath him, providing too little friction to help, but still keeping him right on edge. 

He twists the bedsheets in his hands, the threads catching on his nails as he threatens to tear them apart. 

The need to touch himself overwhelms almost everything else. “Fuck, I need—” He reaches down to take his cock in hand, only to have Hubert hold him in place.

“What if I asked you to wait? Can you?”

Sylvain startles, caught off guard by the request. He tries to form a response, only for a cry to rip out of his throat with a hard snap of Hubert’s hips. It’s a trick to distract him into compliance. 

And it _works._

“Maybe… maybe…”

“Good.” Hubert’s large hand grips his balls, rolling them in a way that nearly causes him to break right then, before he’s let go and a palm comes down on his thigh. “Don’t touch yourself.”

Whatever response Sylvain might have come up with crumbles away into nothing as he’s pushed down, Hubert’s weight between his shoulder blades, and fucked like a favored cocksleeve. Hubert takes his own pleasure from his body by manipulating him into a better position—pushing one leg up to spread him wide. Sylvain’s breath feels punched out of him with every snap of Hubert’s hips against him; his cock driving in so deep he feels hollowed out. 

Hubert comes with a low moan that spreads out from his chest and echoes loud in the small room. His movements stutter as he pulls Sylvain flush against him to ride out his orgasm, spilling hot in a private claim. 

He curses too soft for Sylvain to hear over the sound of his own heartbeat, and pulls out slow in a way that’s meant for every inch of him to be felt as a loss. “You’re filthy,” he says, sitting back to admire the mess he’s made. “I said I’d take you apart, so what if I give you a choice—” he wraps his fingers around Sylvain’s cock and, with the barest touch, begins to stroke him. “You can cum now, humping against the pillow—” and then, he removes his hand to press his palm flat to the dip of Sylvain’s spine, forcing him _down_ —“or you can wait until I’m ready to take you again and you get another chance to cum on my cock.”

“I hate you,” Sylvain says.

“You don’t in the slightest.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.” Hubert reaches over to brush the hair out of Sylvain’s eyes, tracing a thumb over his lips. “I want to see you.”

When Hubert says it like that, it really isn’t that much of a choice. Sylvain wants to cum so badly he’s not sure how long he can hold out. It would be so easy to simply grind down and rut against the pillow, to take what he needs. He’s done it before, alone and aching, biting his fist to stifle his cries. 

But that’s not what he _wants_. 

“Okay,” he says, heart thudding against his ribs. 

Hubert places a kiss to his shoulder blade. “I’m going to take care of you.” Slowly, he grazes his fingers down Sylvain’s back to spread him open and expose his loose, wet hole. “Sometimes I want to show you off,” he whispers like a secret, easing two of his fingers back inside. “Show everyone how I’ve _tamed_ you.” 

The touch to his entrance has Sylvain’s eyes screwing shut against his desire to have more. His lungs fill on a shuddering breath. _Tamed_ , he thinks, mind spinning around the concept. “Lucky you,” he says. He feels hot all over with the concept because it’s the truth.

“I am.” Hubert’s voice is warm with indulgence, though again he doesn’t waver from the torturously slow rhythm he’s set to tease Sylvain’s rim. He does just enough to be too much to ignore and still too little to help.

This is a familiar game, and one which Sylvain rarely wins. He knows that it won’t matter what he does; as long as he doesn’t say _stop_ then Hubert will simply continue at his own pace, drawing out every gasp and whimper from within him. So he closes his eyes and evens his breathing, allowing himself to be rocked on Hubert’s fingers. Inch by inch he sinks into that feeling, allowing every piece of him to be taken apart. 

He’s played with; his hole stretched and licked until he’s sure he must be gaping. Hubert knows exactly what he can handle, so he pushes and pushes right to that limit, filling him more times than he can keep track of and yet, somehow, it doesn’t feel like enough. Eventually, he begins to drift somewhere between contentment and desperation as he’s pushed right to his limits.

When Hubert rolls him onto his back, he can’t tell how much time has passed, only that the light in the room has shifted away into night. His knees are pressed up and open and the space between them is filled again. Hubert’s cock slides in deep, bottoming out in a single stroke. Sylvain feels that emptiness inside of him abate and he sighs, smiling up at Hubert and pulling him into a kiss that’s little more than a brush of their lips. 

“There you are,” Hubert says when the kiss ends, remaining close enough that his words are shared between them like a secret. 

Sylvain hums, dropping one hand to his chest to run a blunted nail over his nipple. “Yeah,” he says, voice having gone rough with disuse. His eyes flutter shut as he clenches down on Hubert’s cock. 

The sounds that fill the room are both intimate and obscene. Sparks travel along his spine, pleasure coiling in his stomach and down to his groin. He bites at his lips, pulling it between his teeth before releasing it to drop his mouth open in a shuddering inhale. 

“Come on,” he says, toes curling and nails scratching down along Hubert’s back. He’s so close that all of his thoughts are narrowing down to the point where they’re connected. “Hubert, _Hubert_ —”

He lifts one leg to wrap around Hubert’s waist, digging his heel into the base of his spine, trying to take more. His heart is thudding in his chest as beads of sweat roll off his skin and soak the bed beneath him. The words that pour out of his mouth are nearly incoherent, except for the broken, desperate, pleas to cum. It would be so easy to reach for his cock and touch himself, but he _waits,_ grinding against Hubert and urging him on for more. 

Hubert groans, teeth grazing his neck. “Good boy,” he says and _finally,_ wraps a hand around Sylvain’s cock, making a loose fist for him to fuck into. 

When his orgasm hits, it bursts through him in waves. His muscles go tight, back arching, as he wails with the strength of his release. Long fingers continue to stroke him even as his pleasure crests, milking him for every last drop he has to offer. Hubert’s thumb runs along the underside of his cock, pressing under the head and down again until it’s almost too much to bear.

“I’ve got you.” Hubert’s hand falls away from his cock as he changes position, pressing one foot flat on the bed for a better angle. 

Sylvain’s muscles are sore, and his nerve endings are oversensitive and worn raw, but he loves this. Watching Hubert lose all control because of him. The way his mouth opens and his eyes slip shut, how the sounds he makes turn animalistic. Eventually he cums a second time, adding his spend to what’s already there and stuffing Sylvain so full he can almost taste it. 

Hubert goes still, panting, and slowly drops his hold on Sylvain’s legs. “You…” he starts, trailing off into a chuckle as he slowly pulls out.

Sylvain grins, though it falters into a momentary hiss of discomfort. 

“I’ll take care of this,” Hubert says, though it’s unnecessary. Sylvain isn’t sure he could move even if he wanted to, and he’s far too tired for that. 

They’re both wiped down with a damp cloth and the ruined bedsheets and pillows are removed from the bed and left on the floor, out of the way. At some point during the cleanup, Sylvain moves onto his stomach, idly watching Hubert clean up, and feeling his energy begun to crash. He ends up falling into a light sleep, because the next thing he knows there’s a lamp lit on the table beside the bed and he’s curled up against Hubert’s chest under a thick fur blanket. It’s too warm, bordering on uncomfortably hot, but it’s also something he's been getting used to over the past year.

“Hey,” he says, voice scratching around the edges. 

Hubert sets aside his book. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore, but in a good way.”

The smile he’s graced with is a rare sight, but a welcome one. “If that was too much-”

“No,” Sylvain says quickly. “That was my way of welcoming you home.”

“Was it?” Hubert places a kiss to the top of his head. “Perhaps next time I’ll bring you with me. Let you be the blade at my side instead of finding one in my back.” The bite of his words is offset by the gentle way his fingers brush up and down Sylvain’s spine. “Though I do wish to bring you to Enbarr with me, however, one of these days.”

“Yeah?”

“If that’s something you might want.”

“It might be.” Sylvain yawns, unable to prevent himself from drifting back into sleep any longer. He tucks himself closer into Hubert’s side. “I might want a lot of things with you.”

Hubert picks up his book again, tangling his fingers in Sylvain’s hair. “I might want that too.”


End file.
